


All the World is Gone

by hooksandheroics



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - World War II, F/M, Fluff, Slow Dancing, nurse!clarke, soldier!bellamy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-29
Updated: 2016-02-29
Packaged: 2018-05-23 22:25:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6132064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hooksandheroics/pseuds/hooksandheroics
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For a minute back there, Bellamy thought he had died. His expectation of an angel wasn't a hard expression on an otherwise beautiful face, but he's past expecting now. He just wants to know if she's free for the Homecoming Ball.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All the World is Gone

**Author's Note:**

> I've taken liberties with the whole war that took place in Pampanga (because I know they lost, but let me live) just because I wanted a part of this story to be set in the Philippines.

_Clark Air Base, Pampanga, Philippines_

If Bellamy were to be honest, he thought he had died for a minute back there.

Blonde hair, blue eyes, and a hardened expression weren’t what he thought an angel would look like, per se, but he also didn’t anticipate getting nailed in the shoulder by a stray bullet just when they were falling back. He doesn’t expect that much.

All he remembers is the pain and then… well, nothing. The pain was kind of a blessing in disguise, in retrospect, for knocking him out before anything else. Octavia always told him he was the most stubborn injured person ever since they were young – he wouldn’t flinch at a fist in the nose, or a broken bone, so it must be a different kind of pain to knock him out that quick. He was always trying to hide the pain from showing on his face, like some kind of rugged Superman. He never told her, but it was always for her. Ever since their mother died, it was just Bellamy and Octavia, through thick and thin, foster homes and families, and then eventually, an okay apartment and a couple of scholarships. It has always been for her. For Octavia.

For Octavia –

“Calm down, soldier,” a voice says, cutting through the thick haze of his mind. He’s not sure his eyes can fully comprehend the girl in front of him, but he’s pretty sure he’s dead. Or he’s just seeing the most beautiful person he has ever seen. The girl purses her lips, looks like she’s reeling in a laugh, and he belatedly realizes that his brain-to-mouth filter is basically _none_. “Alright, lay down and rest. I’ll be back. Don’t go anywhere.”

He doesn’t move. That much. He just looks around and finally realizes he’s in the infirmary with countless other soldiers, and it’s nighttime, and everything feels loopy. There’s a throbbing in his shoulder, and while everything’s coming back rushing to him, he could only do two things: thank God he’s not dead because Octavia would kill him if he is, and wonder where the blonde nurse had gone and when she’s coming back.

Bellamy doesn’t feel his eyes close but he opens them when he feels a hand on his uninjured shoulder. He sees her pretty smile and – fuck – he’s already not handling this well. Out of all his remarkable skills, being smooth is far from the list. But he’s pretty sure he’s far from failing it as well. This girl just –

“Bellamy, right?”

He shakes his head. She raises her brows. “I mean,” he splutters, and then nods.

This is – _great_. Spectacular. In the five accumulated minutes of their first meeting, the nurse was either laughing or trying not to. This is going _so_ well.

“My name is Clarke Griffin, I’m your nurse,” she says, setting down a metal bowl of pills on his bedside table and another metal cup beside it. She fishes a pen from the bun of hair atop her head, and smiles at him. “If I’m not present, Nurse Murphy over there will make sure you get everything you need.”

She points at the far end of the hall where a man who looks like he’s more capable of murdering than healing stands, staring down at the cot where Sterling’s sat up.

He frowns. “Yeah, can we make sure that never happens?”

She laughs this time, not restraining it or hiding it. He likes it. “Okay,” she replies, and then checks her clipboard.

In the next few days, Bellamy works on being smooth with Nurse Clarke Griffin among everything else. He sends Octavia a letter about all that has happened because he doesn’t want her to find out from anyone else but him, and couldn’t help his adoration for the nurse to bleed out into the letter.

Still, that doesn’t make him the best patient.

He has never been able to sit still, nor take anybody’s advice whenever he’s injured or ill, and it had always annoyed his mom when she was alive, Octavia when she’s home from college, and now Nurse Griffin. He’s very much aware that out of all the bedridden soldiers in their wing, he’s the most irritable and stubborn, but he swears it’s because he’s right. Nurse Griffin definitely and vehemently disagrees.

Of course she’s there in the middle of the night to tell him “I told you so” while dropping what feels like a handful of pills on his open palm, urging him to drink all of them because his wound is “achy”. He swallows them dry, not because he’s trying to impress Nurse Griffin. No. It’s the way he does things.

“You know you can stop trying to impress me at the expense of your recovery,” she says, making it sound like a nonchalant thing, but Bellamy can see the pink in her cheeks and it’s _adorable_. He decides then that he wants to kiss her, he just needs to find the right time.

“But are you impressed?”

She huffs, but a slow smile spreads on her lips. “You were already impressive on your own. No need to forego your meds.”

He smiles at her, and she looks up to do the same. Honestly, she’s probably the best thing about this whole experience and he intends to see more of her. So asking her to the Homecoming Ball is just natural.

It’s lunchtime, she pulls a chair next to his bed and opens her lunch kit, offers him one of the two apples in her pack. He takes it and bites into it noisily, giving her a smug grin when she grimaces.

“Gross,” she says, wrinkling her nose.

“You’ve seen bones sticking out of people’s skins, I’m sure I’m far from the grossest thing you’ve seen.”

She shrugs. “Touché.”

This is natural, now that Bellamy has thought about it. Three days into being confined, he gets moved into a room with just Raven, and ever since her surgery, she’s been moved to a better room, so he’s all alone. He doesn’t know if it’s pity or something else, but a day after, Nurse Griffin brings her lunch with her into his room and keeps him company.

She hears him converse with the other Filipino nurses in Tagalog, and he tells her his father was from the Philippines, that they stayed here for six years, moved to the US when Octavia was born, and never returned. He tells her this is the weirdest way to reacquaint with his Filipino roots, but the war makes everything weird and horrible, so.

A young nurse, David, teases him about Clarke with her in the room, and he’s grateful she could not understand a word they’re saying because the profanities he blurted were embarrassed and taunting. David laughs at his indignant scowl and leaves.

“What did he say?”

“Nothing.” Her raised brow tells him she doesn’t believe him one bit. “He just… he said you’ve been spending too much time with me. He said… he didn’t even have to tell us to get a room.”

She gapes at him, and then laughs so hard tears were coming out of the corners of her eyes.

The stories come naturally – about their lives back home, what he remembers of the Philippines, her mother and her father, the occasional mention of a guy named Finn in a tone that can only be described as forlorn disgust – and then there’s silence.

There’s a kind of silence that they can share without the air of heaviness that usually surrounds it. He finds that this is the kind of natural that’s almost impossible to find, so much so that he wakes up looking forward to the few short hours that they’re going to share, and goes to bed wishing for tomorrow’s. If Octavia finds out about this –

“My sister,” he tells her. There’s a picture in his pocket, crumpled and dirty, with creases and tears, but it’s his sister in her high school graduation toga, beaming at him when he snapped the photo. “She’s the nosiest teenager you will ever meet.”

“She’s… she looks happy,” Clarke says, looking at the photo, almost wistful. He wonders if she has any siblings back home.

“I hope she is.” He places the photo on the table and reaches for his sandwich. “I already told her when I’m coming back. I’m expecting a month’s worth of passive aggressiveness and overbearingness, nothing less.”

“She loves you so much, you’re lucky to have her,” Clarke says, and there’s a weight in her words that’s hard to ignore.

“I’m willing to listen, if you’re willing to share.”

She looks at him and sighs. “There’s this guy – his name’s Wells. We aren’t… related by blood, but he’s the closest thing to a brother that I’d ever have. He’s in Vietnam right now. I haven’t seen him in years, haven’t talked to him in more, and I miss him. It’s just that we – we didn’t part in the most cordial of ways.”

He looks at her, thinks about his sister. “Look, I don’t know much about Wells, or your relationship with him but my sister and I didn’t always get along. We haven’t always been on the same side of things and it’s – “ he pauses, and then fixes her with a small smile. “We always find our way back to each other. We just have to seek it out ourselves.”

She looks at him, eyes unreadable. And then smiles, “That was weirdly insightful. Thank you.”

He raises his brows and scoffs. “You’re welcome. And thank you for your vote of confidence in my wisdom.”

“I aim to deliver.”

He lets moments pass them by, and by the time she’s packing up, he blurts out, “Do you wanna go to the dance with me?”

There’s silence so deafening he wishes he had never asked the question. But then she’s frowning and – he knows rejection even before it reaches her lips. “I’m sorry I – there’s –

He shakes his head, tries not to let the disappointment show on his face. “No, it’s okay. You don’t have to explain yourself.”

She nods, cheeks red, and turns to exit his room. But before she’s gone he calls out, “And I’m sure you’re a terrible dancer anyway, so.”

She turns back, mouth agape, and laughs. “Fuck you, Blake.”

He smirks.

That night, he starts his letter to Octavia with,

_So I’m free to the Homecoming Ball if you’re interested to be my plus one. I think I overheard Lincoln saying he’s coming alone so…_

*

_Chicago, Illinois_

_One month later_

Octavia bats his hand away from the collar of his formal uniform for the nth time, but he still feels like he’s being strangled by Uncle Sam or something.

The hall is… well, overwhelming. He sees a few familiar faces, smiles at some of them, but he mostly stays in the shadows of the more secluded areas, and occasionally with Octavia at their table.

Who is now fixing him with an impressively scary glare that he elects to ignore until it actually becomes physical. Or verbal.

“You’re sulking,” she notes, tone brooking no argument. She’s taken a break from her flirtationship with Lincoln to sit with her pitiful brother, and Bellamy’s grateful she hasn’t forgotten about him yet, but he really wishes there’s another topic out there to talk about other than _this_.

“I’m not. You know how I am at parties.”

“I do, but this is different. The nurse really did a number on you.”

He turns to stare at her, but she’s not looking at him. When he follows her line of sight, he finds himself staring at Nurse Griffin – Clarke – in her soft pink dress, with her hair in a braid atop her head that makes it look like she’s wearing a crown of gold. She’s standing with a group of people, Raven, Monty, Miller, and a tall, dark-skinned guy with a bright smile. They’re engaged in a conversation, Clarke and the Unknown Guy, and she’s smiling, grabbing his arm and kissing his cheek. Bellamy doesn’t know who this guy is, but his heart feels like it’s been stabbed repeatedly. It’s not a good feeling at all. (It must be jealousy – something he’s never felt before this extremely. She really had done a number on him. And will continue to do so if he keeps his eyes on her.)

“That her?” Octavia asks, but it sounds like she already knows the answer.

“Yeah.”

“She’s very pretty. But I always thought your type was more like _Miss Fierce Brunette_ over there with her,” she says, a little teasing, but more like there’s sympathy in there.

Bellamy scoffs. “Yeah, Raven’s – yeah.”

“Come on, big brother,” Octavia says, standing up and extending her arm to him. “Instead of sulking, why not dance your sorrows away?”

He shakes his head, but takes her hand. “You’ve turned into a cheesy romantic movie, I don’t even know you anymore.”

Octavia huffs a laugh and drags him to the center of the dancefloor, shaking his shoulders and stepping on his feet. Sometimes, accidentally, most of the times, on purpose. He’s not the best dancer out there, that award goes to Miller, surprisingly. But he doesn’t think he’s particularly bad at it, O just likes to tease him about his two left feet and his perfectly uncoordinated body once in a while, and this ball is the perfect opportunity.

They’re in the middle of an argument of where his left foot should go at this fast-paced Samba when the music fades into a slow Waltz and his sister extricates from his arms. She cocks her head at something behind him, and before he knows it, he’s turning to see Nurse Griffin – Clarke, standing there with a small smile, almost sheepish, and longing if he knew where to look.

“I’ll leave you two,” Octavia says with a pat at his back and a quick scurry.

He couldn’t take his eyes off Clarke and in that moment, he knows he will get his heart incredibly broken. But it’s Clarke. She’s probably the best person to hand his heart to.

“Hi,” she says, and even with the loud music from the live band, he heard her as clear as if there’s no one in the room.

He hasn’t seen her in a while. Ever since he got discharged, he hadn’t had the opportunity to find her and talk to her again – about _everything_. He used his last few hours in the hospital looking for her, but to no avail – only to discover from Murphy that she had gone ahead with the first trip back to the States. So yes. Something was left between them, a dangling string set to unravel whatever they are (were? He doesn’t know). Bellamy’s pretty sure she knows how he feels about her, and he’s also pretty sure this is her giving him closure. Or something.

“Hi,” he says back, and there’s relief in her eyes. He feels his heart chip away slowly.

She bites her lip and then nods to herself. “Dance with me?”

He doesn’t think twice, just takes her hand and sways her slowly.

There’s this silence again and – he’s gonna miss this. When everything’s over.

“I tried to look for you,” he says in a whisper, and she stares up at him, blue eyes fluttering. She’s so beautiful it hurts. “When we were boarding, when we landed. And then Murphy told me you’d gone ahead.”

She ducks her head. “Wells came home early – I had to see him.” And then she raises her head, gazes at him under her lashes. “ _Someone_ told me to seek out the path back to him.”

He feels himself start to smile. “That’s good. I hope it went well.”

She nods and smiles. “It did. Thank you. He came with me to the Ball actually. He’s right _there_.” She points at their table from across the room, right at the Unknown Guy who waves at both of them. He’s beaming at them, and Bellamy feels something in his chest give.

They’re so close in a way they’ve never allowed themselves to be before, and it hurts now as if the atmosphere is telling him that this is going to destroy him soon. He still holds her like this, loose and steady, but easy. If she wants him to let go, he will.

“There’s something I have to tell you,” she says in the same volume, and his heart seizes. This is it, he thinks. “And I should have told you this a long time ago, it’s just. It felt like it’s always the wrong time.”

He swallows. “And now’s the right time?”

She shakes her head, an apologetic smile on her lips. “Probably not, but if I want to tell you this to your face, then this _is_ the appropriate time. I don’t know when I’d see you again.”

She breathes in as if to steady herself, and then soldiers on. “I’m in love with you.”

Her grip on his shoulders had tightened, and her eyes are piercing on his, but his world seems to have stopped, realigned, and then moved again in the span of a breath. _That_ is definitely not something that he had anticipated.

“If you’re not gonna say something, then I will.” She exhales, bites her lip again, and something tells him the right time to kiss her is _anytime now_. “I know I’m not the only one feeling this way. I think. But you were just – I always _miss_ you.”

They’re so close now, and he feels every breath leave him when she starts tearing up. “I _just_ came out of a bad relationship, and I thought that was it. I wasn’t ready when you asked – Lexa, she did me so bad and I didn’t know until we were falling apart.”

He takes her face in his hands, his thumbs brushing the tears from her cheeks, and she gives him a shaky smile. “You’re not… repulsed?” she asks.

“To what?”

“My ex is a woman.”

He shakes his head. “Oh, no. Octavia’s bisexual, too. I’ve had my own freaking out years ago. No, really. It’s fine.”

She laughs softly, and rests her head on his chest. “I was a spectacular wreck when we first met, but – you didn’t fix me. I think I still am. A wreck. I just feel like you’re – it wouldn’t matter. I felt like it _wouldn’t matter_ , not with you. I was right.”

She could probably hear his heart, beating so fast, so hard that it’s difficult to breathe. Her arms had wound around his waist, their bodies pressed together, their dancing slowed into swaying. It’s perfect because he’s also in love with her and he can’t wait to tell her.

“I love you. I’m in love with you. Please say something.”

He exhales, relieved and euphoric as he holds her in his arms. “I’m in love with you, too. And I’d love you more if you’d just stop stepping on my feet.”

She pulls away far enough to slap his chest, shaking with laughter. “Has it ever occurred to you that it might be your fault that I –

Yeah, it’s the right time to kiss her.

She ends the sentence with a tiny sigh when his lips descend against hers. Her fingers card in his hair, stay there, as they lose themselves in the kiss. She makes tiny noises into his mouth, and it steals his breath away. Everything about her steals his breath – has been stealing his breath away ever since the beginning, he doesn’t know how to start getting used to it. He might never get used to it and it’s just – it’s perfect. They aren’t, no. But _this_ is.

They pull away, the air around them still feeling like it’s laden with electricity, too charged to be moved. Any longer and he feels like they’d set the whole if Chicago on fire. “I love you, if that’s not clear enough,” he says.

“It’s clear.”

So yes. They aren’t perfect. But _this_ is.

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! Thank you for reading, hope you enjoyed. Leave a kudos or a comment down below, or come yell at me on [tumblr](http://hooksandheroics.tumblr.com)!


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